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Archive for the ‘Introspection’ Category

I wrote this almost a year ago now. It’s still valid.

Nothing new to say.
I’ve said it all before. And all I’ve said before has been said before that, by more eloquent men than myself. I have no novel words to tell that sound stronger or more true than I can find in my books, my songs.
But I need to keep saying it. Reading what I’ve already written does not satisfy my need. Reading the words of bards long departed merely feed my fire. Love.
Love. It grows every day. Each new pang caries with it a need, a hunger for contact, for vision. For love returned. Each new contact sates that hunger, but feeds the love. And being fed, it grows. And growing, it pangs and hungers all the more.
Nothing new to say.
I love these boys. I need their love. I want their friendship. I desire their company. Every day is spent pondering how to see them again. Every second in their company is spent in thoughtless rapture. Every moment away is consumed by equal parts fear and hope. Trepidation over the next step to take. Fear that the last step was too bold. Or too timid. Dread that time is wasting. Hope that all will come together.
Nothing new to say. But I need to keep saying it. Over and over for as long as it is true.
I love them.

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I am listening to one of the first CDs I ever bought. When I was 13 my mother took me to the newly opened Borders in the town. I selected two CDs to buy with my allowance that remain among my favorites in my now considerable collection. Exultate is a Vienna Boychoir CD featuring soloist Max Emanuel Cencic.  Only one track does not have him as a soloist, and only two tracks actually involve the choir. The rest are purely Max solos (or duets). I didn’t know that when I bought it, but I was pretty happy about it when I realized it. When I initially brought them home, Exultate was my preferred CD. I didn’t much care for the other after giving it a thorough listen.

That other is The Music of Westminster Cathedral Choir. Many of the tracks are 20th century works, and my 13-year-old ears didn’t care for that music. A few years later, however, my preference switched. I guess I matured enough and learned how to listen enough to enjoy the more modern music.

As I listen to the music tonight, the Unknowable Longing is in full force. Listening to those sublime boys’ voices, sweet clear, gentle or forceful according to the demands of the song, that familiar, almost friendly melancholy overtakes me and I race and struggle to put a name to it. (The power of the name.) All the usual suspects are considered and, as usual, set aside but not dismissed.

I love the music. The glorious, perfect beauty of the Renaissance polyphony. The exciting, exhilarating power of the 20th century compositions. So many different types of songs from different eras. I want to sing them, yes. I want to hear them life. But that’s not quite it. Hearing kjese songs, or performing them with women’s voices would be wonderful, but wouldn’t fulfill that longing. The boys’ voices are very important. Singing the Mendelssohn “Ave Maria“, I would feel this longing even in the middle of the performance. Yet when I consider singing it with boys, I still can’t conceive being satisfied.

If I were to go to London and join the Westminster Cathedral Choir I’m sure I’d still feel this way.

One last possibility occurs to me. One I hope is not true. Maybe this longing isn’t to sing with boys, but as a boy. To be a cusping 13-year-old (alas, my voice changed at 11, so I never had that pleasure) whose voice would soar through those Palestrina motets and Britten and Martin masses. If that is the answer, then I can never fulfill this need no matter how long I live, how much I accomplish.

However, if the name has as much power as it is said (I suspect is does) I feel that simply speaking (or writing) that desire would give some modicum of satisfaction. It doesn’t. It should be a relief just to know what I want. So it doesn’t feel like the answer. So along with singing the music and singing with boys, wanting to sing as a boy goes in the category of “true, but not the answer.”

It also occurs to me that how I feel has nothing to do with boylove. I think I mentioned that before. That, too, doesn’t feel quite true, but it’s worth considering. Maybe this feeling which manifests so deeply, primally, is the nature of music. Maybe music is an expression of a feeling that has no name. Do non-boylover-music-lovers experience this Unknowable Longing when they hear the music they love best? What half-formed imagery flits through their minds, ungraspable?

Sometimes I wish I could speak to a psychologist. Someone who knows how to poke around in the subconscious to help me name my desires.

 


 

Sometimes, when I feel this way, it makes me think that I should never listen to this music again. Save myself the pain. But writing about it really helped today. The Longing is still there, but it has its pleasant bittersweet quality now. Pen and paper. Cheaper than a shrink.

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Partnership

I want a partner.  I think this has been the result of much of my recent thought.  It’s why I tell The King and My Friend on the Facebook.  Not the only reasons — the ones I have before are still the primary reasons — but part of it is seeking a partner.  Maybe the reason CAPrime doesn’t understand my drive to tell others is because he has a partner in CASecond.  Someone like him with whom he can share everything.

I spoke for a while to The King today, trying to fight the tendency I talked about last entry.  We talked for a bit about “costumes,” and how hard it is to wear them.  I said I didn’t want to live my while life distracting myself from the fact that so much of my life is misdirection.  Having a partner would help.  Having another boylover who can share my musical interests: that would be ideal.  But just being a boylover would be OK.  I’m not sure I could be with him sexually…

Anyway, I have some thoughts forming in my head, but I don’t think they’re ready for paper.  I do know this.  I need to improve my fincancial situation.

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Sometimes I find myself daydreaming that I can talk to someone.  I can be quite articulate and eloquent in my head.  But I’m not often that way face to face.

I’m feeling depressed today.  Last night I saw and English men and boys’ choir perform at a local church.  They were pretty good.  I had some criticisms, but the lasting impression was a good one.  So I spent two hours watching and listening to a large group of cute boys with lovely voices.  One soloist in particular.  He sang the greater solo in “I waited for the Lord” by Mendelssohn, and the last verse in their encore, “Drop, drop slow tears” by Gibbons.  He had a beautiful, even, polished sound, and he was beautiful himself.  Some of the boys were probably nearly six feet tall, but I’d guess this soloist to have been no taller than 5′ if that.  (Not that height is the primary factor is beauty.)  Yet one could see he was no younger than 11.  Probably 12.

I wanted to speak to him after, but there didn’t seem to be a reception of any kind.  So I don’t even know his name.

After the concert I drove up to The King’s house to spend time with him and My Friend on the Facebook.  I wanted to talk about the concert, to talk about this boy, but when I got there I couldn’t say anything.  Even when MFotF asked, “How was the concert?” all I could say was, “good.”

Often after concerts of this sort, that is to say concerts with prominant boy performers, I crash emotionally — sometimes as soon as I walk out of the venue — and fall into this depression.  And I wonder why.  It’s the Unknowable Longing rearing its head yet again.  It’s been a while.  These concerts, and similar situations, remind me of something.  Something I want but can’t have.  Hard to have it when you can’t name it.

Sometimes this feeling is bittersweet.  I sort of savor it; the closeness to the idea behind the Unknowable Longing.  But not today.  Today it just sucks.  Hurts.  Days like today I wonder if it is worth torturing myself like this.  Maybe…  Something about the boychoir, the combination of boys and music, calls to me.  Entices me.  But I’m no closer to figuring out what that is today than when I first felt it.  So I could keep persuing it, or I could walk away and save myself the anguish.

When I put it down on paper like that the answer jumps out at me.  My idealist heart sees the choice between hard or easy and immediately chooses hard.  CAPrime would disagree, I’m sure.  Now if only I could get my Idealist Heart to do the dishes…

To change the topic, last week I was a little hot headded and over dramatic.  CAPrime and I are still speaking.  Our friendship will never be what it was at its peak, but it doesn’t need to end.  He just wanted assurances.  I thought I had given them to him, but it seems he needed more.  But he and I disagree on too many things, and CASecund believes whatever CAPrime tells him to believe.

Writing this down really does help, for some reason.  I don’t know why.

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Yesterday was my birthday.  25.  Quarter century.  It has been a less than ideal year, and an interesting final week.

So, 24 started out alright.  I had a successful recital, graduated with my master’s degree, went to a summer music festival where I renewed my friendship with Jess and learned a little about my isolationist tendencies and how to fight them.

Then, however, I spent the rest of the summer unemployed, racking up debt, got sick while uninsured resulting in completely losing my voice, got a crappy job as a waiter, quit that job, and generally was a lazy slob.  Oh, and I was rejected from the mentoring agency.

I’m now pulling out of that.  I’m feeling a renewed interest in my music career.  I’ve been avoiding all the illnesses that are floating around (though I did go to the hospital with an anxiety attack).  I’m finally turning my house back around – albeit slowly – and making it a pleasant place to live.  I quit the old job and got a new, better one.

And then last week I came out to My Friend on the Facebook.  That last one is the real reason I’m writing today.  I told MFotF and the King that even though they assure me that all is well, I would still worry.  And I did.  Do.  I took the King’s advice and kept my distance for most of the week.  It occurred to me that that may actually have not been the wisest course of action.  While it gives MFotF the chance to digest what I told her, let it sink in, it also gives her doubts a chance to grow.  I’m not present, reminding her of my humanity and our friendship, so the parts of her mind that tell her that people like me are monstrous can speak to her unchallenged.

On the other hand, most of that battle has already been fought since this is an idea that has been present for a while.  I’m starting to think the advice I’d gotten from that website years ago was 100% wrong.  It said to never let those you love find out for themselves that you’re gay, but tell them yourself first.  twice now, the opposite has proven to be quite smooth.  It’s slower, more gradual.  The other person can work out the fact that you’re still a human being, still the same person as before, without having to actually confront the truth.  When people see things coming they tend to be better prepared when they arrive.

Anyway, I left her alone.  She texted me that night, left me a voice mail the next and that was it for a few days.  At first I was patient, but on Tuesday I was getting anxious.  I held off calling until Thursday.

When I did call, under the pretense of checking what the plans were for today (Saturday), she was normal enough but didn’t seem interested in talking long.  But she was talking ot me, and that was good.  She called the next day to wish me Happy Birthday and was much more friendly, explaining that she was a little short with me the day before because I called during one of her favorite shows.  I understand that feeling.  I said as much too, saying I should really not answer the phone when I’m in that situation, since it’s not pleasant for anyone involved.

“I considered it, but I figured what you were calling about and was going to call you at some point anyway.”

I can see that being true.  I can also see her answering because she didn’t want me thinking she was avoiding my calls.  Either way, I was mollified.

We’ve spoken a few more times.  I’ve come to the following conclusions:

  • Any awkwardness I perceive may or may not exist.  Either way, it will pass.  It is not a sign of anything bad.
  • Even if she’s less comfortable than she claims, the only thing I can do to help is be around her and be myself.
  • Most of it is in my head.

She’s coming down today to help celebrate my birthday with The King and BBM.

 


Well, it was fun.  Not the most fun I’ve ever had with MFotF and The King, but fun none the less.  Here’s the thing though.  Now that I’ve told her, I want to talk about it with her.  But…  I can’t be the one to bring it up, can I?  Surely she is curious.  The King was, in any case.

I suppose I’m just waiting for the transformation.  Really, there shouldn’t be one.  That’s kind of the point of  a smooth coming out.  Nothing really changes.  It’s just a bit anti-climactic.  I spend all that energy worrying and building up courage to tell someone I’m a boylover and then after it’s over, it’s like it never happened.  I guess I’m just not sure what I feel about it.  That’s not completely true.  I’m glad I told her.  Tonight was a good indication that we can still be perfectly normal.  I just…want more.

GAH!  Shut up, Louie!

But just one more thing.  I’s possible that she is curious but doesn’t want to bring it up herself.

OK, two more things.  I still kinda feel like I’m walking on glass around her.  Not for the same reasons, obviously, but for instance, tonight I played a clip of the B minor Mass with boys singing the soprano and alto parts.  I felt embarrassed.  Duh!  I’m a boylover.  She already knows I like boy sopranos a little more than is normal, but for some reason I was still reluctant to play the song in front of her.  Maybe it’s just an old habit.

I should probably talk to The King.  Get his opinion.

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What do I want?  It’s a harder question to answer than it seems, even without bringing up the “unknowable longing.”  I love music, especially baroque, sacred and choral.  I love boys; their company, voices, image.  What the heck am I going to do with my life?  I’m tired of not knowing where I’m going.  I don’t want to worry about how my next meal or the electric bill will be paid.  But neither do I want to be chained to a desk working 40+ hours a week.  I need flexibility.

I’m listening to a recording of an English Cathedral choir.  In my initial long term plan I stated that I was going to England to sing in one, but the problems are this: The political situation with being a foreigner in England is not looking good right now, they are even more intolerant of boylovers (at least on paper) than the US, I don’t know that I could stand to be tied down to singing a service every day much more than working 9-5.

It really is a while lot of “I don’t know.”  There must be a way to shape a life I can love.  What part of myself must I sacrifice?  (I have far from recorded all the directions I’d like my life to go here.  There are far too many.)  Music and boys will always be at the top of my list of loves, and their combination would seem like the perfect solution, but I really think perhaps not.  As much as I love singing boys, singing in a choir with them probably wouldn’t fulfill me.  (It doesn’t right now, though it is pleasant, but I can’t know it wouldn’t if I were in one of the caliber of Kings or Westminster.)  It lacks the personal element.  I ‘m not content to adore from afar for ever.  I think…I think I need to have a career singing the music I love most — early — with maybe a little musical leadership thrown in and also cultivate personal relationships with boys.  That sounds…like a give up answer.  I still have no clue how to fully support myself, nor cultivate those personal relationships.  Do I spend the money and go back to school?  I can’t really afford to.

I DON’T KNOW!

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Today I watched Jet Li’s Fearless.  I think it was a very good movie.  The acting was not to western taste, meaning it wasn’t naturalist, but the story told was a good and interesting one and it was well told.

While on my cruise I laid out a plan of action if you will remember.  Upon returning from the cruise I set about following it, but have since become lax.  I need to recommit myself to it, even if I change the goals.  I think the uneasy feeling I’ve been having is related to once again lacking direction and purpose.  So, here i go again, outlining what I hope to do and accomplish.

-Become a mentor.  Really nothing I can do but wait on this one.
-Contact Virtuoso to encourage his Venus and Adonis project.  Even unpaid, I need to get back into music for the love of it.
-Reduce my spending, increase my responsibility, both financial and personal.
-Find a job to replace the Restaurant that doesn’t subvert my soul.

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